Five Minutes to Midnight
by commander in blue
Summary: It was five minutes to midnight, and Bex Baxter was no Cinderella. Bex/Grant, one-shot. R&R.


**A/N: I'm in the mood for writing a canon couple one shot, so I picked Bex/Grant. This fic takes place at the "ball" in CMH, as Grant anf Bex are dancing together.**

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed!**

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Attending a ball at the Gallagher Academy under the pretenses of a test was as easy taking apart a nuclear bomb. Which, in Bex Baxter's case, would not have been too much of a stretch, seeing as her essay was on exactly how to diffuse a bomb in under ten seconds.

Despite this, she and a dance didn't mix. Her lessons of how to do a proper tango or walk with grace had left her mind completely; she was only vaguely aware that she was supposed to be taking the identity of Helen Ferris, an intern at the CIA. Being more of a wall flower than ever, she gravitated toward the table shyly. If it had been anyone else but the brassy and loud Bex doing this, they would have blown the cover. So luckily, the quiet and shy persona worked for her.

Why was it that one of her tests had to be in such a romantic environment? The sight of girls in pretty dresses and boys in suave tuxedos didn't do much for attention problems.

Donned in a sweeping black dress (intended to show off her muscles), she could have been walking the red carpet for the Oscars. Bex glanced around the dance floor. Liz was doing the waltz with some unnamed Blackthorne boy, with Jonas shooting jealous daggers at him. Macey was doing some sort of jive walk to get away from her many admirers, while Cammie and Zach--

"May I have this dance?" A voice broke her avid people watching. Her eyes drifted up to his face, the very face that most of the girls in her grade were dreaming about this very moment. Sure, Grant had the looks that could rival any Greek god, but Bex had found that she'd prefer personality over chiseled cheekbones any day.

"I don't _dance._" She answered dryly, her thick eyelashes fluttering as she rolled her eyes farther into her head. As if it was possible.

"Nice accent you have there," Grant pointed out in a low whisper. "I thought you were from Alabama?"

Damn, Bex thought. Her crisp British accent did nothing for her cover. Think, girl, think. Helen was supposed to be a shy southern belle who could dance like no tomorrow. If her cover said to tango with the next person who asked, she would have to. Being a spy really sucked sometimes.

"You're right," she said smoothly, transitioning into a southern twang. "I'm from Selma." The more vague her answers were, the better.

"Really, now?" Grant seemed to be humoring her. "Vincent Marcenzo, call me Vin." He extended a hand out to her. The polite thing to do would have been to accept his hand and charm her way throught the foxtrot. The Bex thing to do would be to make him so miserable that the last thing he'd want to do is spend more time with her. She opted for the latter.

"Charmed." Bex quipped, before attempting to glide over to the next table over to discuss military spending.

"You know, I've always loved this band. Care to dance?" Boy, he didn't take no for an answer. Unfortunately, he had asked this in the presence of Mrs. Morgan, who pushed Bex lightly into Grant's arms. How utterly romantic.

The orchestra started playing again, but only a few couples were twirling around on the dance floor. Bex spotted Cammie and Zach dancing as well, looking to be in deep conversation. Nonetheless, she shot her best friend a few "Help me!" looks, only to have Cammie smile back weakly in return.

If he had decided to act this way two weeks ago, Bex might have died of happiness. There was something oddly satisfying while competing for his affection with other girls; it was just like sports: winning isn't everything, its the only thing. Plus, dubbing her the "British Bombshell" hadn't hurt his chances with her. What did hurt his chances, however, was the conceited attitude that came with his new found popularity. Soon, her crush on Grant was a thing of the past.

"I know you think I like this sort of boy," Bex began as she and Grant settled into the dance moves smoothly. "You know, the boy who keeps pestering the girl in hopes that she'll like him back? Here's my advice, I don't like it."

His eyes were a mix of disappointment and amusement, because no, she wasn't the same girl who flipped her hair and flirted openly with him. Like Macey, she'd become immune to boys at her school. She was the girl who didn't take "no" for an answer, and now she was telling him the same.

"Oh?" Is that all he could really say? Could it be that the brutally honest girl had found somebody who could spit cold words back?

"_Oh?_" She repeated, missing a step for one beat before regaining her rhythm. She wasn't going to let him faze her with one word.

"Here's some advice," Grant managed to catch her own theatrical tone. "I don't like those girls who pretend not to notice that boy, but bats their eyelashes and flips their hair." Damn, he did remember her previous advances.

"Oh?" She mocked him right back, a trace of a smirk glittering in her wide eyes.

"I'm much more interested in girls who actually don't care." He clarified, while spinning Bex quickly.

"I see." It was five minutes to midnight, and Bex Baxter was no Cinderella.

"The ones who actually put up a challenge..."

"Mm-hmm?" In the corner of her eye, she caught Cammie running off toward the door in some sort of hurry, and Zach trailing right after her.

"A girl like _you."_

Then, in true fairy tale fashion, Bex broke out one of her signature smiles. He grinned right back at her, though the relief in his eyes gave away so much more emotion. The sight of his warm eyes was a bit too sweet to take at the moment, so looked down at he feet. Were boys really supposed to like the tough girls? Were those tough girls allowed to hear such romantic words? As if he stole a scene from one of Macey's favorite chick flicks, Grant gently lifted her chin to meet his gaze again. It didn't even matter they were taking a test or every teacher was keeping an eye on them. They were about to kiss-

And then, like fate decided to cast Bex as Cinderella, the school alarms went off and she could hear her friends yelling in the back ground. She snapped out of her saccharine world and into the real world. Bex broke away from Grant's embrace, lifted up her hem, and sprinted toward the exit in hopes of catching the culprit. She was a spy, and above all that came first.

Fairy tales would have to wait.

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